NYC

Tinder Without Borders

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I only recently signed up on Tinder. I registered via my Facebook account and didn’t look at it again til a couple of weeks later. Two nights ago I looked at it for the first time; didn’t even think to look at my own profile page.

Was out with my friend (you’ve read some of her stories). Told her I thought I was at highest age range of Tinder. We checked. I am, but I’m in good company. I started looking and swiping, mostly right with my new buckshot approach, and also because I wasn’t wearing glasses or reading the profiles or looking through the photo options.

About 90% of my right swipes resulted in matches! Continued this for another day, weeded through the errant matches, and started conversations with 21 men. 21!! I texted the same message 21 times: “Hi (insert name here). Summer off to a good start?”

Results? 17 (yes, you read that right) responded! One date scheduled. Another has my phone number. 4 or 5 other ongoing conversations, one of which seems to be heading more toward dirty talk than a meeting. One of them pointed out that my profile was sparse (remember, I had never set it up). I updated and got some nice feedback from my penpals.

Now what? I’ll keep you posted.

A Prince’s Perspective

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Here’s an interesting observation, submitted by a reader…friend…prince…(as always, published unabridged). 

Huddling up at the bar to swipe right or left…

I am not so sure that the Tinder’s and Bumble’s ruling the dating world these days are that much different than those good old days of just going to the bar, club or downtown lounge and trying to meet someone of the opposite sex. Then again, for me those days were not so good; I didn’t have much luck meeting anyone.

Think about it: arriving with our friend(s) with the faint hope of finding someone special, strutting into the place with a wing-man (or wing-woman), grabbing a beer, cocktail, or something in our hands that made us look busy, and then we’d peer around the oppressive environment to see if our eyes could catch a look from someone of the opposite sex.

How is this so different than Tinder? Isn’t this the very same thing as opening up Bumble and peering into the eyes of a person in a photo, our hands holding something to make us feel important, ready to bust a move? It’s no shock how today these twenty-something’s use Tinder for hook-ups, given how it takes away all the unnecessary trappings like travel and venue for them to find immediate gratification instead of wasting an entire evening on the prowl.

The Tinder’s and Bumble’s of the dating and hook-up world rely on that first glance, not on the written word or laundry list of things we like. Of course, some write how they enjoy wine, travel, the beach and good food, yet the focus is not on what is written but simply that initial look in the eyes. This is just like at the bar! Of course, the limited number of matches on those apps are also just like the bar, it’s not THAT simple! Men and women lying about their age, also no different than in the bar when someone told us they were 24 when they were really 34. On the app, the fuzzy photos or group shots with friends cover up the truth that they are really 65! Hell, it’s really no different than when we huddled up at the bar, things haven’t changed that much since being in my twenties.

I’ve tried Match, Plenty of Fish, Jdate, sites that require detailed profile descriptions. But in the end, it is still that first look that matters most. The internal chemical reaction to another’s eyes, face, or countenance draws us in. It’s not any written word, or excuse the expression, how we sell ourselves.

Little has changed other than venue, it is still chemistry uber alles.  For human beings in this difficult mating game, we are still just like mammals in the jungle.

Buckshot? I am all ears!

I have a couple of comments. (Of course I do.)

  1. At the bar, you can get some sense of chemistry, albeit tequila infused. Tequila=good.
  2. A point made in Aziz Ansari’s book, Modern Romance: people are checking dating apps even on their ways to meet dates…you never know what better options may appear. Like bar hopping.

Let Me Elaborate

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I wasn’t very clear yesterday, I know. The Reader’s Digest version, right to the point…I had a great time, felt connected and comfortable, but didn’t see it amounting to a LTR (long term relationship, for any of you not used to the dating site lingo). Why not? There were reasons, feelings, but now I can’t put my finger on them. Maybe I never did. (I will bring this topic to my therapist’s couch and spare you, readers.)

What I wanted to do…planned to do…was get together again and be truthful. I’m not always in step with social code; I don’t do things the way other people do. I color outside the lines. Dance to my own drummer. Talk to strangers. But I know that sometimes I’m inappropriate; I listened to too many people and began to doubt myself. I’m angry with myself for not trusting my instincts, especially at someone else’s expense.

Even more so at the expense of someone I know values honesty and had demonstrated that from day one. Sadly, the societal norm (like the stories more common to my pages) dictated how I behaved. I fucked up. My respect and appreciation for his candid reproach is beyond measure.

Thank you, Neil, for being smarter and braver than I.

I have more to say about first dates. Next time.

 

 

 

 

 

No Excuses

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I’m struggling with writing today; I hope you’ll bear with me if my thoughts are disorganized.

I found myself in a unique situation…I had a great date with a great guy. I even told him about My Frog Princes, certain that he’d never be fodder for my pages. (As they say, turn around is fair play, and he got the conversation started.)

It was my intent to go out again. When I said that I needed to put off another date for a few weeks because of an overwhelming schedule, it was the truth.

Here’s how my brain works: I absorb in the moment; I process later. Details coalesce and form the bigger picture. I concluded that he and I are not on the same path, that the lifestyles we want are not in sync. Religion plays a role in his life that it never has, and never will, in mine. A superficial example: he recently moved to the suburbs after many years in the city. I just did the reverse.

When we were out he told me about his past relationships. He said that falling in love was the easy part; making a life together is the challenge. This stuck with me.

Now, what was the right thing to do? On the sites, many people say they’d like to start as friends, see if that leads to more. But they’re dating sites, not make-friends sites. This particular fact was pointed out to me by several of my friends. What’s misleading? What’s fair?

Again…we had fun. He’s interesting, smart, optimistic, attractive, sensitive and honest. I planned on going out on the second date in order to show him that I really did (do) like him and had a good time with him. Face to face. I wanted to tell him I don’t see us walking the same path.

I want to be friends. I want to help him find the love of his life. Believe me when I say he’s one of the good ones. One of the really, really good ones.

Well…you know how I handled it. He deserves better. I was wrong when I went silent. My instinct was to be honest from the start, then I made some bad decisions.

Neil got his apology and explanation, personally and immediately. We talked. We even made plans. As friends.

 

 

Pants on Fire

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One of my friends made a date for the other night. According to his profile, he was about ten years older than she (she’s 39 and has broad age parameters), no kids, all looked interesting.

They made plans for a few days later. Drinks at a nice place, a late start to the evening. He hadn’t seen his buddy in a while, and he didn’t want to cancel the earlier dinner plans. Reasonable. No explanations necessary. In hindsight, that should have been her first clue.

She arrived by taxi; the driver over-shot the address. As she walked back toward the restaurant she saw her date saying goodbye to his buddy…a hot and heavy goodbye as he put her into a cab.

My friend still went in to meet him. And told him what she saw. He briefly hemmed and hawed, and then decided to be truthful. Not about the earlier date, but about himself.

Turns out that “no kids” is, in fact, 5 kids. It appears he decided there was no point in lying anymore. His true age? Guess we’ll never know. I wonder if his wife does.

I’m (Almost) Speechless

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Today I received three messages. Good, right?! One of the guys is in Los Angeles. Another is in Texas. I’m in New York. WTF!

The third?

Since my words couldn’t possibly do his justice, here’s a quote from his essay: “If your (his improper grammar, not mine)  searching for an attractive, kind and funny soul–who’s also sincere, suave and sexy…” blah blah this, blah blah that…good in kitchen “…I’ve been told I’m fairly accomplished in some other rooms of the house as well.”

Suddenly, Texas and LA are lookin’ pretty good.

Can You Hear Me Now?

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Written communication has its flaws, especially when you don’t know the other person. It’s hard as the reader. It’s hard as the writer. Sometimes it requires an interpreter. Like one sequence of messages in which I was recently engaged (more like ensnared).

I read his profile, assessed his photos, took the leap, and favorited him. He responded with lyrics, and asked me to identify the artist. I googled the answer and wrote back, admitting that I’d done the search (and earned props for the effort). He wrote back…normally a good sign.

With each successive message (and there were a few back and forth), I became more confused. I wasn’t sure if he was still quoting songs. I didn’t know if he was being philosophical or snarky. I said I was “confused, but curious.”  He was confused by my confusion, and curious about my curiosity. I felt like he was talking in code and I didn’t have the key.

He messaged me a couple more times, but he’d lost me by then.

25 years ago I invited a mom and her daughter (I hardly knew them) over for lunch and a playdate. I’ll save you the details and tell you the afternoon was an awkward disaster. Such an awkward disaster that, by the end of the afternoon, we had bonded over it, and we’re still sharing the laugh.

The relevance of this tale? We were face to face and committed to an afternoon, and we found our connection. I’m resolved to go back to my earlier dating resolution; once we’ve connected online, it’s time to meet. Or not. But no more mysterious pen pals.

Later…I Promise

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I favorited him. He messaged me. Likes my photos. Likes my profile. Do I want to chat or, better, meet for coffee? OK! Here’s my number. I prefer meeting to phone date…awkward and counterproductive. Call or text and we can set something up. Or message me back on site.

You, readers, already know where I’m going with this…nowhere. Right. Is it out of the question I’ll hear from him? Of course not. Sitting by the phone? Definitely not. But our phones are generally sitting by us, so we keep checking. Like waiting for college acceptance or that million dollars from Publishers Clearing House. Refresh.

The problem, according to me, is that getting in touch feels more like making a doctor’s appointment than something we optimistically anticipate. We’ll message later. Remind ourselves to follow up. Just…not right now.